


"What's Jon's Favorite Kink?": A Glorious, Smutty One-Shot

by WendyNerd



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Headcanon, Kink Exploration, Married Couple, Married Life, Married Sex, Mild Kink, Mutual Masturbation, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, R plus L equals J, Trials and Tricks fic, role-playing kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-16 20:18:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3501503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WendyNerd/pseuds/WendyNerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So if Sansa has a role-plying kink then what is your head canon for Jon's favorite kink?! Ps if this inspires one of your glorious smutty one shots I wouldn't hate it or anything :)"</p><p>I swear there is canon basis for this one. And no, I didn't go with the obvious</p>
            </blockquote>





	"What's Jon's Favorite Kink?": A Glorious, Smutty One-Shot

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this on tumblr: "My new sexy headcanon: Sansa has a role-playing kink. I’ve officially decided on it: Sansa’s dreamy nature, love of stories, and history of having to pretend for others has developed into this. And it’s not ‘valiant knight and damsel in distress’ stuff either. She’s disenchanted with knights so she develops a taste for things like ‘Ironborn raider takes a salt wife/husband’, ‘wildling steals a lady/lord’, or ‘Braavosi courtesan makes a king/queen into her slave’. I’ve applied this to my personal OTP, Jon x Sansa, but I think it could apply to a lot of other Sansa pairings, right? Like, couldn’t you see that with Sansan or Jaime x Sansa or even Sansa x Margaery? I think it totally works. That’s my headcanon and I’m sticking with it."
> 
> So someone asked me what Jon's favorite kink is and to write a one-shot about it.
> 
> Yes, this can work with Trials and Tricks
> 
> Warning: Un-beta'd

Despite what many people assumed thanks to his quiet nature and her proper manners, things never got boring between Jon and Sansa Stark Targaryen. Their four children didn’t come into existence simply because of an adherence to duty. They weren’t extravagant, lazy, or necessarily indulgent people. But there was one way they definitely allowed themselves to enjoy life.

It was a quiet, cool evening in their apartments. They’d just finished making love in a more traditional but no less satisfying fashion. She was lying on her back, nude, eyes closed, smiling, a hand over her brow. There was still a bit of a hum going through her. Enough candles were lit to cast the room in an amber glow. Her husband was on his stomach, resting diagonally across the bed, his chin resting on her ribs as he lazily traced circles over her belly with the tips of his fingers. She could feel his eyes upon her. So, feeling a bit playful, she lifted one lid.

She also almost forgot how painfully gorgeous his bare ass and chest were. The hours he spent in the training yard had kept his form trim and muscular, something she didn’t always get to admire. It almost made her miss the days of their progresses in Essos with Dany’s khalasaar, where, by custom, Jon the Khalakka rode with nothing on his chest but a few stripes of blue paint and occasionally, a vest. He remained as well sculpted as ever.

Sansa glanced down at herself and sighed, wishing she could say the same. She’d given birth to five children in her life, her horribly missed, now-dead first child from her first marriage, Eddie, and her four children with Jon. She birthed Eddie at fifteen, and it was easier then for her to lose the weight. But even that first birth left her with marks and slight sag to her breasts. Four children later, even with the harshest corsets, the smallest she could make her waist was twenty-four inches where before she could achieve a twenty-one inch silhouette. Her hips were wider, her breasts sagged more, and she had a stubborn amount of fat on her inner thighs that wouldn’t go away no matter what she ate or how many rides she went on. It didn’t help that most of her duties involved her having to spend her days sitting at meeting tables, desks, dining tables, or in sewing circles.

She knew on a conscious level that her body was still respectable, and that she wasn’t truly fat. But these days, there were more and more women who were younger than her, and/or more and more women who spent more of their time pursuing martial activities full time, keeping their bodies tight and athletic.

When comparing herself to Jon’s still impressive set of muscles, she couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed. All of his scars were marks of battle and survival that displayed proof of his bravery. He had no sagging flesh or sunken lines that came from birthing babes. No one ever admired stretch marks. And he had years yet before anything on him began to sag.

Despite her twinge of jealousy, she couldn’t help but feel nothing but fondness for him.

The sweetness of his round, dark eyes could still unnerve her. She would have thought after all these years she’d be used to it. But no, never. Maybe it was because they’d reconnected at a time in her life where she’d completely given up hope that any man could be truly sweet. Or maybe it was the fact that he’d passed that same look onto their children. Their daughter and three sons had not inherited the dark grey color of her husband’s irises, but they all had that expression that made it so hard to deny them anything.

“What is it?”

“I was just wondering…”

“…Yes?”

His face went a little red, but he put on an air of sly confidence. “I was just wondering if you’d worked up any new little pieces of theater in that brilliant, filthy head of yours.”

All thoughts of being less than desirable vanished. “I still have your seed drying between my thighs, and you want to know if I’ve got some new elaborate carnal scenario for us to act out?”

He nodded. “I feel no guilt. We’re simply doing our duty."

Sansa giggled. “As if a lack of duty ever stopped you.”

It had been five years since the night she brought Brandon and Aemon into this world. The birth was, for obvious reasons, far more difficult on her body than the previous ones. She suffered from a bleed that took much too long to end itself, and fell ill for several days. After that scare, she and her husband decided to at least put off trying for a fifth so she might take some time to recover and enjoy the children they already had.

But last week, on Jon’s Name Day, she informed him that she felt ready to try again. She was as healthy as ever, she was still young, and her babes were growing up so fast. Brandon and Aemon were reading now. Robb was seven and already making loud proclamations about what he wanted to do when he was Lord of Winterfell. Naerys, their eldest, was eight and so tall and gangly that there was talk already of moving her from ponies to palfreys. She was also cleverer at eight than Sansa had been at eleven. It was a little disturbing.

Both Sansa and Jon wanted another daughter. Naerys was a bookish, slightly more obedient version of the wild tomboy Jon had always imagined she’d be. In other words, she was perfect. But both of them did also want a little girl of more traditionally feminine, ladylike inclinations. Jon phrased it elegantly as, “Let’s make another version of you. I want a tiny version of you to carry on my shoulders and spoil with pretty dresses and hair ribbons.”

It was only fair. Sansa had already gotten a tiny Jon in Aemon, their quiet, oddly solemn, sensitive, yet athletic and adventurous youngest (by only four minutes, as he was quick to remind everyone). He had been the only one of their children to inherit the full Targaryen coloring of pale hair and violet eyes. But everything else was every inch her husband as a boy.

And having another little girl, one with interests similar to her own certainly had its appeal. Of course, having another little boy would be wonderful as well. Another child in general would make her happy.

They’d had more time to pursue this goal lately. Both of them had painfully busy schedules, being active members of the regime of Jon’s Aunt Daenerys. They both served on the council, Sansa was Lady of Winterfell and the mistress of the court, Jon was a chief advisor and the only active dragon rider other than his aunt, and Lord of Dragonstone. Of course, there were also the children. While Sansa and Jon had a great deal of assistance, they insisted taking an active role in their children’s lives. As their brood increased, it became more and more impossible to handle all their original responsibilities, forcing Jon to step down as unofficial Hand to a more basic advisory role on the council, and Sansa to cede her title as Warden of the North to her sister, who served as co-regent of Winterfell.

Even with that, they had very little time off from anything. The combination of roles as parents, royals, landowners, and active political leaders left them with an exhausting schedule.

However, when they informed the queen of their intention to have another child, Daenerys immediately went about lessening their royal duties. The Dragon Queen was always eager to encourage the creation of new Targaryens. While a daughter and three sons was nothing to scoff at, there was still a rather sizeable clutch of dragon eggs laid during the year of Naerys’s birth, not to mention one full-sized dragon without his own official rider.

It was nice, having this new free time. Sansa sometimes forgot about how much fun it could be to spend extended periods of time nude with no one but the man she loved.  

So, in regard to certain carnal play-acting fantasies, she had, in fact, dreamt a few up. Her eyes widened.

Her husband was never a person given to artifice or falsehood. He was an honorable, salt of the earth Northman who preferred simplicity to luxury despite the loftiness of his name and title. Years of living at the Wall, prepared to die in black ringmail and an upbringing as a bastard had helped in that regard. Jon was humble and true.  
She loved him for that. And despite this, the eagerness with which he’d come to indulge her predilection for making tableaus of their love-making sessions proved a pleasant surprise. Jon was the last person she’d expect to happily anticipate pretending to be something he wasn’t. Especially not for the sole purpose of enhancing one’s personal pleasure. It was frivolous and false, the two things Jon was decidedly not.

And yet when she presented him with her fantasies, he agreed. At one point she wished for a wildling savage to steal her, the secretly willing princess, from her royal husband. So he showed up in their bedchambers on the night of a tourney in a set of old furs and carrying a knife. Then he threw her over his shoulder, and carried her out to the godswood to ravish her on a pile of furs he’d settled at the base of the Heart Tree. When she wanted a filthy-minded, deceitful bastard boy to seduce his innocent highborn half-sister, he lured her up to a hayloft in the Northwest tower of Winterfel and “tricked” her into treating his “unwell” cock with her mouth.  
Not that she didn’t indulge his fantasies as well. Such as when he confessed wanting to make love to her on one of the balconies of Dragonstone. Or when he wanted to make love to her in the godswood of Winterfell. Or the night before their wedding, when he wanted to take trip to the lower bath houses, which were accessible to anyone.

They definitely took pleasure in giving one another what they wanted. Still, for Jon to actually seek out her play-acting fantasies definitely surprised and intrigued her.  
He snorted. “A lack of duty never stopped you either, My Lady."

“Can I take it that you’ve grown fond of our little plays then?”

“Of course. And I long to hear the new ones you wish to try.”

She blushed. “Well, I had one… Remember those Braavosi courtesans? I thought maybe we could play at that. Pretend the bedchamber is a barge. We could do it after coming back from a banquet. We could pretend that you’re a Braavosi merchant prince and I’m your beautiful, honored escort.”

“Mmmm… What else?”

“We could pretend it’s our wedding night again. I’m a virginal newlywed, you’re the experienced older man teaching me the arts of love. Or the opposite. You’re the honorable, innocent, first time groom wed to the experienced widow.”

He snickered. “Interesting. What else?”

Her blush deepened. “There’s one that’s just absolutely awful…”

“Then I have to hear that one.”

“Oh, gods forgive me, but… A knight and a septa.”

He laughed. “I suppose if I followed the Seven, I’d be horrified by the depths of your perversion. Would we do this in some private corridor in the Great Sept?”

"Don’t be coarse. I’m not that depraved."

"I beg to differ, but never mind. What else?"

“I also have this idea where, you know, well… I mean, we are technically the Khalakka and Khalakki of a Dothraki khalasaar, but I thought about us making love pretending to truly be Dothraki. You could wear your riding leathers and speak to me only in their tongue.”

Jon’s eyes flashed. “Oh, I really like that one. We could ride out to the kingswood and I could mount you from behind under the stars.”

“Jon!”

He shrugged. “We’ve made love in the godswood.”

“Still!”

She went through a few more—- Jenny of the Oldstones and Prince Duncan, Florian and Jonquil… He seemed only mildly interested. An idea occurred to her. “What if, with the Duncan and Jenny thing, we played it out like they made love when they first met? There are lots of water lilies in a pond in the kingswood, Prince Duncan could find Jenny coming out of the water wearing nothing but flowers in her hair.”

His eyes went wide. “Yes. That one.”

“What about we take a trip down to the ruins of Summerhall? You could be the innocent dragon prince, I could be the desert witch that seduces you. We could make love amidst the old, ruined stones.”

“I’ve always wanted to do something like that.”

“You know, you’ve stolen me once. Maybe next time we go North, we could go to the Wall. You could don your blacks again. I could be the wildling that steals her crow lover. Or I could be the Night’s Queen.”

He whimpered. “You’re a bloody genius.”

“We could steal away from the Red Keep, and pretend to be Prince Jaehaerys and Princess Shaera, consummating our forbidden marriage after running from the royal guards. Hiding out in a cave as we solidified our clandestine union. Or even be them before they were married, just sneak off from some royal function and have a tryst in some broom closet or the stables while our disapproving parents feasted the court.”

“Keep going,” he said, eyes closed and breath ragged. She decided to switch to a different tack just to confirm her suspicions.

“We could get away to Dragonstone again.”

“Yeah, and?”

“I don’t know. Just revisit the castle, enjoy the bedchamber there and the private bathroom.”

“What about the balcony again?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

His eyes opened, Disappointment flooded them.  _Ah, I see._  She smirked and turned on her side, holding her head up with a bent arm. “Jon… You… You like being seen.”

“What?!” He demanded, flustered.

“You like it outdoors, and you like it in places where we can get caught. I can’t believe I never realized it but… it’s true.” She snorted. “Oh my gods! How did I not realize this after all these years?” It seemed so painfully obvious.  _Maybe I always knew, in the back of my mind._

“I do not like the idea of being seen!” He insisted, sitting up, his face red, “how could you possibly think I’d want anyone to see us… like that.”

“Because you do! Let’s think of some of the things you’ve been most enthusiastic about… Let’s see… The night our betrothal was announced, you made love to me on the table in the council chamber—-“

“We were well into our cups! And we only stumbled in there by accident!”

“Really? Because as I remember it, you told me that you wanted to make love to me on that table a few days before when we were in the chamber, completely sober. And I can’t recall the entire conversation, but while we did it, we did say quite a bit about other places we’d like to make love. As I remember it, your locations included the godswood, the godswood at Winterfell, and in the glass gardens, and in the springs, and atop the Wall—-“

“That one was yours!”

“You remember our conversation from the night that led to us eventually being caught rather well.”

“I—-!”

“And now you like the idea of coupling outside pretending to be Dothraki, who fornnicate in public for all the khalasaar to see. And sneaking off to the stables or a broom closet. Or in the lake in the kingswood, finding me naked at unawares. And fucking in the wilderness beyond the Wall. Then there is one of your favorite spots: the balcony at Dragonstone.  _Every time_  we’re there, you want to take me out and ravish me against the backdrop of the ocean. Oh, and the hayloft in the Northwest tower of Winterfell, the godswood there and here at the Red Keep, and yes, the glass gardens. One time you even tried to drag me into the smithy there! The one Gendry uses!”

He gave a little whine. “I don’t—-“

Sansa’s grin grew wider. “Tell me, how often did you make love to Ygritte?”

He made a sound that resembled choking. “That… that…”

She leaned in close. “You were just a greenboy, determined to be honorable. Yet I can’t imagine that when you were traveling with her raiding party that there were many castles with private bedchambers for you to couple in. You two made love on the ground, lying in a pile of furs, surrounded by your party companions. Did you two ever make love where there wasn’t someone else around to see? Or even in a place with walls?”

“A cave near Mance’s camp once.”

“Once. I see. But that wasn’t the only time. And what about Val? You two ever couple where the other spearwives could see?”

He looked at the sheets. Sansa glanced down. Despite his apparent embarrassment, he was already hardening again. She lowered the tenor of her voice and leaned in to murmur in his ear.

“That’s what you like, isn’t it? I always wondered why you didn’t get angrier at the times when Daenerys or Nani, or one of my maids barged in. I mean, there is a bar on our door, and yet I can not recall you  _ever_  putting it down yourself. I bet when we have to spend time apart, you touch yourself imagining the entire court walking in on us in the gardens, gasping in shock as you continue to thrust in and out of me.”

“Gods, Sansa—-!”

“You like the excitement of it, don’t you? The thrill of getting caught. People seeing. You, madly claiming me as your own for all the world to see.”

He pulled back, alarmed. “No, Sansa, I would—- You’re my wife. I love you. I would never want to dishonor—-“

She put a finger to his lips and smirked. “It’s alright. I know you mean no harm. I’m not upset. You’d die to protect my honor.”

“I would. I would.”

Sansa smirked and reached down to palm him with one hand, while sneaking another hand down between her own legs. She was hyper-sensitive, so as she spoke, her breathing grew heavier. “…But you also like a bit of that risk. And you’ve always had a bit of a possessive streak. Remember how bothered you were when I wore Harry’s colors before we were wed? And you always did a get a kick out of seeing me in black. You like showing me off. How better to show off your wife than for people to see you making love to me? You like the idea, you like the risk, the excitement, the forbidden angle of it.”

“Sansaaaaaah….” He was bucking his hips now.

“I mean, you spent so much of your life seeing yourself as a bastard with nothing to inherit, to never have anything to call your own. And despite how honorable you wish to prove yourself, you can’t help it. You love the idea of someone walking in and witnessing you literally taking a woman… That excites you.”

He gasped and whimpered. “You excite me.”

“Mmm…” She closed her eyes for a second, working her nub, “Well, I was the last thing in the world you’d ever thought you’d ever get to have. But now, I’m yours, yours in every way, and yours alone…”

Jon grunted, his eyes screwed up tight. “I am warning you…”

Sansa removed her hands and slipped out of bed. Jon looked at her, all of a sudden dismayed.

“I’m sorry, I—-"

She smirked and lithely began moving towards the large window overlooking the garden. “…And nothing makes you more excited than the idea of someone else seeing the most basic, natural, raw expression of that. Someone seeing you, the bastard boy, and the girl you could never have physically belonging to each other…”

His eyes flashed and the hesitation vanished. A smile came to his lips. “One more word, Woman” he growled, “And you’ll be sore for a week.”

Sansa giggled and found the window, leaning back against it.“… The whole world knowing that the bastard boy got the Northern, fire-kissed princess, and how very, very much that Northern, fire-kissed princess  _loves_  being his.” She slipped her hands down and parted her folds.

Jon growled and sprang from the bed. Sansa squealed. A second later, he’d flipped her around. She flattened her hands against the glass as he pushed her against it.  
“You want to show everyone?” He whispered into her ear.

The only beings that would see them realistically would be whatever birds that might fly by. The outside was completely empty at this time of night, and their bedchamber was on the second floor. But still, it was about the illusion.

Sansa pushed her hips back, grinding her arse against his hardness. “Yes. Let’s show them all.”

She cried out loudly upon feeling his swift, hard, thrust. She was already adjusted from their prior coupling, and it felt incredible. He pounded into her roughly, his skin burning against her back. She was pressed into the glass even more, her breasts pushing up against the chilly surface. Sansa gasped at the sensation. “Oh gods… Jon…”

“That’s right, Sweetling, you like that?”

She moaned an affirmation as he attacked her hair, ear, cheek, and neck with his lips. “And they all know it, too.”

“I’m not going to last long,” he panted.

“Just go,” she was on edge already as it was. She wanted to feel him lose control.

He pounded into her wildly, desperate, manically, lifting and bending one of her legs so he could get in deeper. They were both howling before long. He fisted her hair when he came, and fell against her. His seed entering her with rough spurts sent her over the edge.

Her cunny throbbed. Sansa knew that Jon’s promise might not be in vain, and she didn’t care. At all. She wanted to ache for a week.

A few days later, she was wading in the lake in the kingswood, a wreath of blue roses pinned to her hair. Feeling eyes upon her, she nervously sunk herself shoulder-deep in the mossy green waters, crossing her arms over her bosom and glancing around nervously.

Out of the clearing of trees came a handsome man in black and red lamb’s wool and leathers, a silver chain with a dragon pendant hanging from his neck. His eyes were dark and hot.

“Hello, Sweet Lady,” he said, walking to the stony edge of the lake. “Please don’t be offended but… You have the loveliest face I’ve ever looked upon. Please, tell me your name. I must know what to call my future princess.”

Sansa grinned. “I am Jenny, Your Grace. Jenny of Oldstones. Please, won’t you join me for a swim?”

“Someone might see us.”

“If they do, what would happen? As you say, you are a prince, and I am your princess.”


End file.
